Sequences
by Dramatricks
Summary: Our lives are governed by sequences to get us from one place to another. What happens if we let ourselves be derailed? Rachel, Quinn, and Mercedes reflect.
1. One, Two, Three

**Title:** One, Two, Three  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 2056  
**Spoilers:** Through Journey, just to be safe.  
**Disclaimer:** They are not mine.  
**Summary:** From a prompt on glee_angst_meme on LJ - after her egging, Rachel reflects on her non-existent friendship with Quinn, Quinn's friendship with Mercedes, and the knowledge that the two are moving in together.

* * *

"_Break it. Break it like you broke my heart."_

She had learned, through all the research she did when she decided to go vegan, that there are some health benefits to raw eggs. They can be used to soothe burns, people say, or to moisturize your hair, and even as a facial for bad skin.

She'd take slushies over eggs any day, for _that_, thank you very much.

Her routine was the same, no matter if it were eggs or slushies. Get emergency kit out of locker. Retreat to the bathroom. Clean up. Cry.

Step by step, a casual map of actions that was the only way she could hold herself together.

The ending was always the same.

Deep breath. One, two, three.

Pick up the pieces of her heart that fell each time, and then return to life with a smile.

It was the only way she knew.

No one had come to her aid in the parking lot, as she stood there with undeveloped baby chickens dripping all over her, trying with all her might not to cry _and_ not let any of the egg get into her mouth.

She knew that no one would come to her aid, then or ever, but that didn't stop her from absurdly wishing they would.

It didn't stop her from wishing, even more absurdly, that it could be _Quinn_ coming to her aid.

She told herself that it was because she was jealous of the way that Mercedes and Quinn were growing closer. Anyone with half a brain could see it, the way they interacted together, both in glee and out. Quinn always had an easy look to her eyes when she talked to Mercedes, as if their friendship was an outlet of peace for her – even if they argued a little bit about how "funky" a blonde-haired, hazel-eyed white girl could be.

And every now and then, when she watched their interactions together while pretending _not_ to be watching their interactions, Rachel Berry would wish she was Mercedes Jones.

What would it be like, she wondered, to be appreciated? Everyone in glee liked Mercedes, but most especially Kurt and Quinn. If it were _Mercedes_ who had been egged, Rachel knew the entire glee club would be in the parking lot, half of them cooing over the girl and taking care of her, and half of them taking care of Vocal Adrenaline.

She wished she could be Mercedes, because she pretty much figured that Mercedes? Had no clue what it was like to be alone. By all accounts Mercedes' home life was a stable one: mom, dad, and… a brother, Rachel seemed to recall. No gay dads who were loving when they were home, but weren't home _much_ at all. No biological mother who didn't give a damn about her, saying that she just wasn't ready, for Rachel.

Rachel wasn't sure anyone had ever really been ready, for _her_.

But above all, Rachel wished she had Mercedes' feelings for Quinn.

Rachel knew that Quinn would never appreciate her the way she did Mercedes, knew that the former cheerleader who was her sworn enemy would never want to be _friends_ with _Rachel Berry_. Every slushie Quinn had ever sent Rachel's way had told Rachel as much. And even though they'd pretty much stopped, now, she knew it wasn't because Quinn was making a gesture of friendship. No, it was because somehow they had become united as two rejects, one pretending to understand what it was like, and the other, pretending to be grateful for an appreciation that didn't really exist.

Rachel wished for just a _friendship_ with Quinn. Something that wasn't dependent on roles, something that didn't expect anything in return. Something that wasn't so weighted, so heavy, in Rachel's dreams, now seeping into her waking hours.

A friendship where the voice of a blonde songbird in her ears didn't send shivers down her spine during glee practice.

A friendship where pink lips speaking of the mundane didn't inspire the need for a kiss.

A friendship where hazel eyes didn't speak to her of mournfulness, hope, unshed emotions roiling just under the surface.

Rachel wanted a friendship of just two girls: sitting on the couch watching movies, sharing a bowl of popcorn and throwing it at the screen every time Edward or Bella said something stupid. Sleepovers with shared secrets, one girl looking down over her bed at the other in her sleeping bag on the floor. Or maybe they'd both have sleeping bags and they could pretend they were elementary school students talking about boys and love.

Someone to smile at in the hallway, and know it wouldn't be followed up by ice and cold.

What would it be like to have someone to eat lunch with? Rachel wouldn't have minded even sharing test answers with Quinn, because it meant she'd have a friend.

A reason to look forward to going to school. A reason to get up in the morning and not head straight for the elliptical, but to the cell phone to see what text messages had been left during the night.

A stronger step in her stride, a head held higher in a confidence that was real.

A reason to not hide behind obnoxiousness and self-made esteem that failed her more often and not, when she was alone.

And she was always alone.

Mercedes' voice, loud even outside the door, broke into Rachel's consciousness and she trained one ear, listening.

"We'll go and get your things packed up at Puck's, and then I'll help you get them moved into my brother's room."

"Really, Mercedes, thank you so much, I still don't know what to say."

Rachel's ears perked up at Quinn's voice.

"Ain't gotta say nothing, sweetie. You know I've got your back."

Rachel sighed and shook her head at the irony.

The voices faded down the hall and she stared at herself in the mirror, then down at the sweater and shirt in her hand, bunched up and covered in egg.

The bathroom door opened.

Great, Rachel thought. She turned to ask the intruder for a moment alone, but the words died on her lips.

"What happened?" Quinn asked.

She was radiant, as always, from the baby glow to the pink flush of her cheeks that matched her cardigan. Her hair was down, straight, flowing over her shoulders.

Like a halo, Rachel thought.

She shrugged.

"Jesse. Jesse happened."

"Is that…" Quinn lifted her hand to the dirty shirt in Rachel's hand, plucking off a piece of white and staring down at it.

"Egg shell?" Rachel offered sadly, looking at the palm of Quinn's hand. Funny, how Quinn always seemed to hold a piece of her self-esteem in her hand.

"He egged you?"

"They. Vocal Adrenaline. And Jesse."

"Jesus."

"I doubt he had anything to do with it."

"I swear, if I saw him right now—"

Rachel laughed, but it was humorless. "Don't put your reputation on the line for _me_, Quinn. Not after all this time."

Quinn's hands, which had been curled into fists at her sides, dropped. She seemed to deflate then, and Rachel was sorry for the bitter tone that had crept into her voice.

"I don't have a reputation anymore, Rachel, remember?"

Rachel inclined her head in agreement.

Quinn leaned against the bathroom door, looking at her. "Sometimes I wonder which is worse: having had a reputation and then losing it… or not ever having it at all."

If she was surprised by this rare philosophical moment with the former head cheerleader of McKinley High School, Rachel wasn't going to let on.

"I wouldn't know. I've only ever had the one side."

Quinn nodded slightly. "I'm sorry."

It wasn't insincere, but it was unnecessary.

Apologies from the inner circle did nothing to salve the wounds of those on the outside.

"I heard you and Mercedes," Rachel said carefully. "You're going to live with her?"

Quinn nodded again.

"I'm glad you're getting out of Puck's house."

"Oh?" Quinn raised an eyebrow.

"As much as I think a mother needs the support of the father of her child, I do feel that Puck has failed, woefully, where _supporting_ you is concerned. Giving the mother of his child a place to stay is one thing. Actually providing emotional support is an altogether different requirement, and I fear that Puck is… well, let's face it, he's got the maturity of a puppy chewing on a shoe."

A soft smile had crossed over Quinn's face, listening to Rachel rant, and her eyes had never left the little diva's.

Rachel felt herself blush under the scrutiny.

"You really care about me, don't you, Berry?"

Her voice was uncharacteristically gentle, and Rachel all but squinted at her, wondering if the real Quinn Fabray had been abducted by aliens.

"After everything I've done to you, you still care about me. Why?"

Rachel occupied herself with trying to pick the remaining eggshells from her sweater.

"We're teammates," she said finally. "And though your voice could probably vastly improve with some pitch lessons… glee wouldn't be the same without you." _I wouldn't be the same without you._

"Besides, no matter what's happened in the past, you don't deserve to be treated the way I have."

Quinn winced, and Rachel sighed.

Somehow she always managed to say the exact wrong thing at the exactly perfect time.

"I'm just glad you have a friend like Mercedes."

Quinn smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes, and Rachel's brow furrowed because she thought she detected a tinge of sadness in them.

"Me, too," Quinn said quietly. "I need to go grab my books; I think she's waiting on me."

Rachel nodded and went back to looking at herself in the mirror, trying to make sure there were no more traces of murdered chicken fetus on her body. She tried not to care about Quinn's back to her, making her way out of the tenuous circle they had wrapped themselves in, if only for just a moment.

Quinn had turned to go, was crossing the floor towards the bathroom door, when Rachel had a moment where everything _wasn't_ held together, and it spilled from her lips like oil from a broken underwater pump.

"You know, Quinn, I wish I had had the courage… to ask you to live with _me_."

It was as far as Rachel could go, the closest she could get to admitting to Quinn what she really wanted to ask, _had_ wanted to ask, since that first slushie had made contact with her face and she'd seen the sneering face of Quinn Fabray from behind a cherry ice-induced veil.

Be my friend.

_Love me._

Quinn stopped. She stared at Rachel, an unreadable expression on her face. Suddenly, Rachel stiffened as she felt Quinn come up behind her, so close she could feel the other girl's breath on her neck, the baby bump pressed softly into her back – and she thought she felt the baby kick.

But that wasn't what made her eyes widen.

No, what made her breath still in her lungs and her mouth gape open slightly was Quinn's cheek, coming to _just barely_ rest against hers.

There was no way Rachel could have known that this was as far as _Quinn_ would go, as far as she would let herself fall into the want and shame, the need and the fear.

"I wouldn't have had the courage to say yes."

Quinn stayed there, only for a moment, her eyes looking into Rachel's through her reflection, and then, just like that, the warmth of her skin against her enemy's was gone, and all that broke the silence was the creak of the door as it closed behind her.

Once again, Rachel was left alone. She stowed her hair dryer and shampoo bottle into her emergency slushie cleanup kit, and slipped her egged clothes into a plastic bag. She glanced at herself in the mirror, and quickly scrubbed the tears from her eyes with her fists. She took a deep breath, and went to the door.

One, two, three.

Pick up the pieces, and go back to life with a smile.

And if that smile wavered as Rachel, confused and warm with the memory of Quinn's cheek against hers, headed towards her locker?

It was okay. No one would ever notice.


	2. A, B, C

**Summary**: Continuation of One, Two, Three - Quinn reflects on how she feels about Rachel's life.

* * *

_It's cool. Us sisters gotta stick together, right?_

She had learned, throughout her sixteen years as a Fabray, that life was meant to be a careful map of actions, designed to get you from one point to another with the least amount of embarrassment possible.

A, B, C, one foot in front of the other, as if you were walking a line for a sobriety test, and the police officer was Russell Fabray. Quinn would have almost preferred a _sobriety_ test; at least then if you failed you just got arrested.

But she'd failed the test of _propriety_, and had been thrown out of the only home she'd ever known.

Even then, she'd executed the plan of action perfectly.

A, B, C, one foot in front of the other.

Pick up the pieces of her shattered 16-year-old self, and return to life with your head held high.

No one had really come to her aid when she'd gotten pregnant, though Quinn suspected that that had been all her fault. It was rather hard to expect _anyone_ to help, when she'd lied about who Beth's father was. She knew that she hadn't been good enough friends with anyone else for them to offer anything in the way of support. Finn had tried, after that farce of a dinner party at her house, and then Puck, when Quinn's world came crashing down with just a few punches to the mohawked boy's face.

Still, she kept absurdly wishing that someone besides two hormonal, immature _boys_ would come to her aid. And Mercedes had stepped up, to offer her yet another home.

But it didn't stop Quinn from wishing, even more absurdly, that it would be _Rachel Berry_ coming to her rescue like some knight in shining argyle.

Quinn told herself that it was because she was jealous of Rachel. Cheerio Quinn would have scoffed at that; pregnant Quinn, who was getting used to something like "softness," knew exactly why she was jealous.

What would it be like, to be Rachel Berry? Sure, Rachel didn't have friends and had been slushied nearly every day for the last four years of her life, but it never even fazed her.

Quinn hadn't ever seen Rachel cry, not even once.

Quinn told herself that she wished she could _be_ Rachel Berry: to have the courage to tell the truth, no matter how much it might hurt her in the long run. Because when all was said and done, Rachel at least had her voice. She had that beautiful, angelic voice… and she had her dads. As many times as Rachel had been teased about having two gay dads, Quinn envied her. Surely parents who had been through what Rachel's had… well, _they_ wouldn't kick their daughter out, if she got herself "in trouble," Quinn was pretty sure. They'd be supportive of any decision that Rachel would make, and… her dads would never stop loving her.

What would it be like, to have a father that wasn't governed by his bible and his gin, and a mother who knew more about her daughter than country club parties? Quinn wondered what it would be like to have parents who appreciated her, not because she towed the line and valued the family image, but… simply because she was _their daughter_.

Above all this, Quinn wondered what it would be like, to have _Rachel_ appreciate her.

She knew that Rachel would never appreciate her the way she appreciated the most important thing in her life: music. She'd been Rachel's enemy for too long, and even though Quinn was pregnant now, and she'd made sure the slushies had stopped for Rachel, it wasn't because they were _friends_. No, they were just two outcasts, walking apart on the outskirts of the McKinley High School hierarchy, and if their eyes occasionally met from across a crowded hallway… it didn't mean anything.

It would never mean anything, because eventually Quinn would go back to being a Cheerio and Rachel would go back to being "man hands."

_Untouchable_.

But when she was lying in her bed late at night in Puck's house, listening to the oppressive stillness with tears running down her face, as she tried to parse together just how she had _ended up like this_, Quinn found herself wishing.

Wishing that Rachel could be her _friend_.

A friendship that wasn't based on their mutual roles, with Quinn at the top and Rachel always looking up at her with a kind of fearful resentment. A friendship that didn't jerk Quinn awake from a dream in the middle of the night with eyes widened, the baby heavy in her belly and realization heavy in her heart.

A friendship where the feel of nervous fingers tucking brown locks behind an ear wasn't so tempting.

A friendship where she could close her eyes in glee and not wonder what that voice would sound like singing a song just for her, the two of them alone in a darkened room.

A friendship where a flash of hurt in deep brown eyes didn't have to fade away into manufactured arrogance, even as a soft, pink lower lip tucked firmly between teeth, to keep it from trembling.

Quinn wanted a _friend. _Someone she could confide in, to tell just how damn _scared_ she was of the little baby inside her, how much she loved the tiny kicks even as she hated the hormones, the having to go to the bathroom every five minutes, the clothes that never seemed to fit right. She knew she'd never be able to tell that to Mercedes, who always looked slightly uncomfortable any time Quinn had brought up her baby girl.

Quinn wanted to laugh again. She wanted to have someone tell her jokes or watch stupid movies with her, curled up on the couch eating popcorn. She wanted to lie on the floor in a sleeping bag and talk about dreams – dreams of life beyond endless doctor's appointments and ultrasounds, prenatal vitamins and weighing herself _every damn day_.

A reason to get up in the morning and not feel the hopelessness of loss: loss of her parents, loss of her home, and, eventually, the loss of her little girl.

A reason to not have to rejoin the Cheerios, or if she did, a reason to not return to that person she had been: cruel and exacting.

A reason to not hide behind self-made power and the pressure to be the best.

Because in the end, Quinn knew she would never be good enough.

"We'll go and get your things packed up at Puck's, and then I'll help you get them moved into my brother's room," Mercedes said, bringing Quinn back to the present as they walked down the hall.

"Really, Mercedes, thank you so much, I still don't know what to say," Quinn murmured softly.

"Ain't gotta say nothing, sweetie. You know I've got your back."

Mercedes offered another fist bump, and Quinn smiled softly, meeting it with hers even as inwardly, she wanted to cry.

Another strange home, with strange people, strange smells, strange… everything.

They were walking past the bathroom, and Quinn suddenly wanted to be alone, if just for a moment. She stopped, and Mercedes did too, shooting her a worried look.

"I need to go."

Mercedes nodded. "It's cool. I'll go grab my books and then meet you at your locker?"

Quinn nodded in return. "Thanks."

Mercedes walked off and Quinn swung open the door, stepping inside before she realized she wouldn't be alone.

Rachel was standing at the sink in front of the mirror, clothes bunched in her hands and tears rolling down her cheeks.

The words were out of Quinn's mouth before she could stop them.

"What happened?"

Her hair was wet; little drops of water were still streaking in rivulets down her forehead and cheeks, melding with the tears. Her eyes were full and bright; she stared at Quinn in fear and Quinn felt like kicking herself.

Rachel was beautiful.

"Jesse. Jesse happened."

The Vocal Adrenaline bastard, who looked like Will Schuester and had the soul of Sue Sylvester.

Quinn hated him.

Her eyes glanced over Rachel, from her face to the clothes she held in her hands, and Quinn furrowed her brow, reaching out and picking off a fleck of white from the argyle sweater.

"Is that…"

"Egg shell?"

"He egged you?" Her voice came out stronger, angrier than she intended, and Quinn winced a little.

"They. Vocal Adrenaline. And Jesse."

"Jesus."

Rachel snorted. "I doubt he had anything to do with it."

"I swear, if I saw him right now—"

What _would_ she do? There wasn't much that an 8-months pregnant teenager _could_ do, even if… even if she wanted to kill him, to wipe that smirk off his face.

To put the smile back on Rachel's.

But all Rachel did was laugh, a dry sound absent of any joy.

Quinn had the sudden thought that this was what a heart sounded like, as it broke.

"Don't put your reputation on the line for _me_, Quinn. Not after all this time."

Reputation. When had her life been reduced to that, just a reputation? Something to uphold, first for her parents, then for the Cheerios, for friends who hadn't really been friends to begin with.

When had it meant hurting so many people?

"I don't have a reputation anymore, Rachel, remember?"

She leaned against the bathroom door, suddenly feeling old and very, very tired.

"Sometimes I wonder which is worse: having had a reputation and then losing it… or not ever having it at all."

Rachel lifted one shoulder. "I wouldn't know. I've only ever had the one side."

"I'm sorry."

She meant it, but it didn't matter. They were in the same room, in the same school, but they would forever be too far apart.

"I heard you and Mercedes," Rachel said carefully. "You're going to live with her?"

Quinn nodded.

"I'm glad you're getting out of Puck's house."

"Oh?" It surprised her, and Quinn raised an eyebrow.

"As much as I think a mother needs the support of the father of her child, I do feel that Puck has failed, woefully, where _supporting_ you is concerned. Giving the mother of his child a place to stay is one thing. Actually providing emotional support is an altogether different requirement, and I fear that Puck is… well, let's face it, he's got the maturity of a puppy chewing on a shoe."

During Rachel's rant, Quinn had the urge to only half-listen, which is what most people did when Rachel spoke. But as always, she heard every word Rachel Berry said. Her eyes had stayed locked on Rachel's and she felt herself begin to smile a little.

"You really care about me, don't you, Berry? After everything I've done to you, you still care about me. Why?"

She watched as Rachel seemed to be deep in thought, fingers still picking eggshell off her sweater.

"We're teammates," she said finally. "And though your voice could probably vastly improve with some pitch lessons… glee wouldn't be the same without you."

_I wouldn't be the same without Glee_, Quinn thought. _Without you._

"Besides, no matter what's happened in the past, you don't deserve to be treated the way I have."

Quinn cringed. She wondered when, and if, her forgiveness would ever come.

She wondered if she'd ever deserve it.

Rachel sighed and shook her head. She smiled, but it was empty.

"I'm just glad you have a friend like Mercedes."

A friend like Mercedes. Maybe it would be nice? Maybe they could have some girl talk, if Quinn could get Mercedes away from Kurt long enough. Maybe she could talk to Mercedes' mom about how scared she was, about how uncertain she was that giving up Beth would be the right thing.

Rachel wanted Quinn… to have a friend.

She wasn't quite sure why that hurt so much.

"Me, too," Quinn said quietly. "I need to go grab my books; I think she's waiting on me."

Rachel nodded and just turned back to the mirror, busying herself with checking to make sure there were no more remnants of her egging.

Quinn closed her eyes, briefly, noting how quickly she had been shut out of the bubble they'd wrapped themselves in. She turned to go, and her fingers had just made it around the handle of the bathroom door when Rachel's words cut into the silence.

"You know, Quinn, I wish I had had the courage… to ask you to live with _me_."

Quinn stopped, staring over her shoulder at Rachel. The smaller girl wasn't looking at her, was still looking into the mirror, but her hands trembled as she clutched her ruined clothes in her hands.

Quinn swallowed hard and crossed the floor again, moving to stand behind Rachel, so close that she could feel the girl's back against her stomach. She felt Rachel stiffen, and Quinn's heart fell.

Slowly, she leaned forward until their cheeks met, Quinn's against Rachel's, softness against warmth.

She couldn't go any further, _wouldn't_ let herself sink any deeper into how much she _wanted_ it, how much she _wished_ for it, how much she _needed_ it.

Be my friend.

_Love me._

"I wouldn't have had the courage to say yes."

Rachel smelled fresh and sweet and Quinn wanted to drink it in, to be lost in it…

Instead, she lingered for a mere instant and then pulled away, quick strides to the bathroom door, leaving Rachel alone.

The door closed softly behind her, and Quinn took a deep breath. She smoothed her hands over her clothes, over her belly; Beth kicked and she managed a tiny smile.

She touched her hand to the cheek that was still warm with the feel of Rachel, and willed herself to move.

A, B, C. One foot in front of the other.

Pick up the pieces of your shattered 16-year-old self with a smile, and return to life with your head held high.

And if Quinn's shoulders shook a little as she walked towards her locker, where Mercedes was waiting?

It was okay.

Rachel would never know.


	3. Three, Two, One

Mercedes has learned, having lived her 16 years in the Jones household, that life is a series of problems that start out big, but can be broken down into smaller ones, easier to conquer, until finally, there's only one left.

Sometimes, though, it's the one that's the hardest.

They'd started out as three: Mercedes holding her hand, Puck looking on, and Quinn, sweaty and exhausted and doing all the work – physically _and_ emotionally.

Then there were two: Quinn and little Beth, baby brown eyes glued to mommy's hazel, both smiling at each other and knowing nothing else in the world but the connection of mother and child. The two were separate, the cord was cut, but they were forever linked in the two of blood and love.

But now there was only one.

One girl, curled up crying and alone in a bed that seemed suddenly too big for her frame. Who can tell the weight of a teenage girl's pain when eight pounds five ounces of soft baby girl, eight months of never being alone is suddenly gone, and a blonde girl who seems so small, so terribly small is left alone with emptiness and a memory?

Mercedes didn't know, and Puck had left the room with tears in his eyes minutes earlier. Quinn's cheeks were still wet, had been for the last hour, would be for… who knew how long. Mercedes didn't.

So she stepped inside the room; Quinn heard the door creak open and shut but only lifted her head in acknowledgement of the girl with whom she'd been living.

"Do you need anything?"

Nothing except the barest shake.

"Do you need any_one_?"

This time, nothing at all.

And therein, Mercedes knew, lay the problem.

Though she didn't have any psychic ability, or even a hint of whatever Rachel Berry called her "sixth sense" – which Mercedes wrote off as the girl being so obnoxious there was no way she _wouldn't_ know everybody's business – she knew Quinn was lying.

Knew because at the moment of truth, the time of choice, Quinn had looked frantically at her group of friends, searching… for the one that wasn't there.

The one who had chosen to stay behind and watch Vocal Adrenaline's performance.

And at that moment of choice, Mercedes knew she had come in second.

She thought about it while Quinn had been squeezing all the blood out of her fingers while she was squeezing a life out of herself, and she wondered what it would be like to be first choice.

Even her friendship with Kurt had come loaded with choices, and the fact that she would never _be_ one for him, at least not romantically. And then there had been Puck, with his swagger and his smile, and that hat perched in tandem with his attitude – cocky.

What would it be like to be chosen first, out of all other possibilities?

She didn't want a friend, because, well, Kurt. He was her kind of diva, the best guy to sit around during manicures and gossip with; the best kind of guy to go shopping with (even though she didn't really listen to anything he said because, seriously, her clothes were already fabulous) and, on the nights when things got a little too rough in Mercedes' head, Kurt's was the ideal shoulder to cry on.

So he was her first choice as friend at WMHS, and she knew she was his.

But what would it be like to have someone who was more than _just a friend_?

What would it be like to have someone who wasn't interested in just clothes or sex? Someone interested in her mind, in her heart, in how much she wanted to sing and how much she wanted to be more than just one sustained note at the end of a song?

Could there be, she wondered, someone for Mercedes Jones who wasn't just trying to improve his image, wasn't gay, a guy who could take her out to dinner and to the movies, a guy she could introduce to her parents, take to church? A guy with whom she could share the innermost part of her heart, the question that she hadn't yet been able to ask anyone.

Be my friend.

_Love me_.

That was a big problem in Mercedes' life, the one she thought about the most, if she was being honest, but she also knew it was the least of her worries. Which is why, as she stood in the doorway to the hospital room and watched tears streak down pink cheeks, she began the slow break down – three, two, one – and three months after Quinn had rejected her mother's offer to come home, and went back to Mercedes', three months of listening to her friend cry herself to sleep, three months of watching Quinn lose the baby weight to slip back into her armor of red, three months of watching hazel eyes lose their sparkle…

Rachel showed up at Mercedes' front door, hands twisting in her front of her nervously, still unsure about the other girl's invitation. But Mercedes shot her a reassuring grin, and even Quinn smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. Rachel relaxed once she'd changed into her pajamas and was sitting next to the couch (Mercedes considered herself clever and begged off for the chair, saying there wasn't enough room on the couch for the three of them) with Saw playing on the television. It turned out Rachel had a love for horror movies, and more than once Mercedes shot Quinn an incredulous look, glancing back at Rachel's wide, entranced eyes. Quinn had just shrugged and chuckled, and it didn't escape Mercedes' notice that at some point the girl had settled against Rachel's side.

And Rachel didn't seem to mind.

Mercedes dreamed of a tall, dark-haired boy, strong-shouldered and comforting. She couldn't see his face, didn't know his name, but it was enough.

Rachel's sleeping bag was argyle. After enough good-natured teasing from the other two girls, she stopped pouting and allowed Quinn to paint her nails, but only _after_ Quinn agreed to use the sparkly purple, and not the Cheerios red she'd originally picked. "It's the principle of the thing," Rachel pointed out, which had caused Quinn to wince, and Mercedes tensed, ready to jump to her blonde friend's defense.

But then Rachel had squeezed Quinn's fingers in hers and the hand holding the polish brush trembled.

This time, Quinn's smile lit up her eyes, and Rachel's mirrored it.

It was after midnight when they finally settled in to sleep, Mercedes in her bed and the other two girls in sleeping bags on the floor. Rachel had objected, saying that Quinn needed to rest comfortably and should be in her own bed; in the guest room that Mercedes' mom had insisted was not for guests but for _family, _but her mouth had snapped shut at one glare from a pair of icy hazel eyes.

"Still got it," Quinn smirked, and Rachel huffed – with a twinkle in her own eyes.

She was just drifting off to sleep, lulled by the sound of Quinn and Rachel whispering together, talking about Glee and planning a trip to the mall, when Mercedes heard Quinn tease Rachel about her love of gore, and Rachel snap back "Better not go to sleep, Fabray, you're sleeping next to a serial killer, apparently."

And Quinn erupted into giggles which turned into loud guffaws, which quickly gave way to sobs.

Mercedes sat up in the darkness, squinting, to see Rachel move closer, a hand on the girl's back.

"Was it the movie?" Rachel asked worriedly. "It was just a movie, Quinn; I won't let anybody hurt you."

"No, it's not that, I just… I can't…"

Rachel moved even closer, her arm sliding around Quinn's shoulders. "You're okay. I'm here."

"I'm sorry, Rachel, I'm so sorry…"

"Shh. I—I meant what I said, Quinn."

"What?"

"I won't let anybody hurt you."

Mercedes lay back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling and dreaming of strong warmth next to her, listening as Quinn's sobs evened out then subsided.

Listened as Rachel sang to her, softly.

The next morning, Mercedes woke up first. A quick glance over the edge of her bed found Quinn fast asleep, tear stains still evident on her cheeks, her head snuggled onto Rachel's shoulder. Rachel was awake, staring up at the ceiling. She caught Mercedes' gaze and seemed startled, worried, but Mercedes just smiled.

After a minute, Rachel smiled back.

That Monday at school, the flavor of the day was cherry.

Quinn slushied Rachel at 9:45 a.m.

As she walked away, she looked at Mercedes, and the diva wasn't surprised to see tears. She saw the same in Rachel's eyes, just before the girl grabbed her "emergency kit" (which had lain dormant for almost a year) and rushed to the bathroom.

Mercedes shook her head.

_Women._

She followed Rachel into the bathroom. The sound of hitched sobs reverberated against the walls; Rachel clung to the sink, cherry syrup dripping off her hair and into her eyes, her arms shaking with the effort of holding herself up.

Mercedes grabbed the folding chair and moved Rachel aside, patting the seat. Rachel stared at her, uncomprehending.

Mercedes shrugged. "Jesse changed things."

Rachel sat and leaned back with her head on the sink.

Mercedes washed her hair in silence; it was only when Rachel had changed her clothes then exited the stall that she spoke.

"Are you ever lonely?"

Mercedes blinked, taken aback.

Rachel twisted her soiled clothes in her hands. "You're so strong and so confident… and you're such a great singer, though, admittedly, not on the level as I am." Mercedes just smirked, grateful that at least the diva wasn't crying anymore, much.

"And you seem like you're never lonely. With your family and… and with Kurt, and… and with Quinn." Rachel blushed and looked down at her feet.

"Sometimes I wish I could be you."

Mercedes shook her head at the girl for the second time that day.

"Sometimes I wish I could be _you_."

Rachel tilted her head in confusion. "Why?"

"You have someone who wants to be in love with you."

She left the bathroom and imagined a knight in shining armor, coming to her defense.

Quinn drove them home in complete silence, something Mercedes was used to. Quinn parked in the Jones' driveway and Mercedes had her seat belt off and her door open when the words stopped her.

"I'm not strong enough."

Mercedes closed her door. "Strong enough for what?"

Quinn rested her head on her window. "For her."

"Maybe you two could be strong enough together."

Could one plus one ever equal just one?

"I don't know how." Quinn wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. "All I know is how to be mean."

Mercedes reached across the console and grabbed her friend's hand. "I know that's not true, and so do you."

Quinn just nodded.

Three hours later, Rachel once again knocked on the door of the Jones' house. This time, Quinn answered it, and before Rachel had a chance to step inside the threshold, she was pulled into an embrace. Mercedes chose that moment to come out of the kitchen with popcorn and stopped, watching as Rachel's arms flailed a little in the shock, before coming to wrap around Quinn's waist, holding lightly.

She couldn't hear the words, didn't_ want_ to hear the words, but as they pulled away Mercedes could see the small smile on Quinn's face, and the look of hope in Rachel's eyes.

And that was enough.

Rachel came over every day after that.

A month later, Mercedes walked down the hall one afternoon after glee practice; she rounded the corner and stopped at her locker, unnoticed by the other two girls standing just feet away. Mercedes could see them, just out of the corner of her eye as she grabbed her books and stowed them away in her bag. She watched, a half-smile on her face, as Rachel said something and Quinn's laugh sounded loud and musical in the hallway. Quinn's hand was steady, unwavering while she tucked a brown curl behind an ear; Rachel's smile was radiant as she tilted her head to receive the kiss.

And then it was Quinn's hand in Rachel's as they left Mercedes behind and walked out of the front doors of William McKinley High School, into a cool Ohio autumn.

Three, two, one, Mercedes thought, shouldering her bag and waiting a couple of minutes before she headed out the door towards Kurt's car. Take the biggest problems in life and break them down, little by little, until only one is left.

A girl and a boy and a baby. The boy moved on to other games and other girls; the baby had her new life and a new mama, in a town three hours down the road.

The girl? The girl held her wounds and love close to her heart, a heart which she shared with only one person.

A knight in shining argyle.

And if Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry had taken practically _forever_ to realize that what they really needed was _each other_?

It was okay, Mercedes decided.

Now they knew.


End file.
